


Uncertain Times

by Allemande



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Established Relationship, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mystery, Politics, The total agony of being in love with two people at the same time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-15
Updated: 2014-02-04
Packaged: 2017-12-29 12:42:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 16,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1005592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allemande/pseuds/Allemande
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Right after the last conversation between Bashir and Garak in "What you leave behind", Bashir follows Garak, and their relationship takes a turn neither of them expected. Unfortunately, Bashir now finds himself in a bit of a dilemma, having just started his relationship with Ezri Dax. Meanwhile, back on Cardassia, Garak manages to forget about him. Almost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh dear, these boys can't seem to leave me alone at the moment...
> 
> This is a strictly anti-"let's just get rid of Ezri" tale. While I've done that too, and am not a massive fan of their canon relationship (that conversation between them in WYLB is excruciatingly awkward), I'm interested in this variation. In other words: I'll be trying to explore (to slightly misquote Love Actually) the total agony of being in love with two people at the same time.

We live in uncertain times.  
  
Looking back, it must have been that comment that set him off. _We do live in uncertain times_ , he must have thought, _and what if I never see him again? What if there’s a civil war, a plague, a building that collapses on him? What if this is it?_  
  
It was more likely, though, that he hadn’t thought at all. That he’d acted on pure instinct. But somehow, that thought was even more frightening. He, who had near-perfect control of his thought processes and his actions?  
  
But why did it frighten him so much, losing control for once? Wasn’t it what he had so often wished for whenever he’d thrown himself into a hologame, into a romantic adventure? Hadn’t he hoped, time and time again, that the day would come when he would stop calculating the exact distance between two buildings as he determined whether or not to jump, stop working out the probability of seeing someone again?  
  
The day had come, and it scared him more than anything had ever scared him in his life.  
  
Also, there was that non-negligible fact of being in a relationship with somebody else, somebody he loved very much.  
  
So he did what one did with scary things – he pushed it far, far back into his mind.  
  
“Are you free for dinner tonight?” asked Ezri Dax as they left a meeting together, and checking that they were alone in the corridor, he put an arm around her.  
  
“Free as a bird,” he smiled.  


* * *

  
I’m sure we’ll see each other again.  
  
At the time, it had been a tiny beacon of hope in a grim pile of rubble. Now, even that phrase made him squirm.  
  
Surely it would be a very bad idea, now more than ever. In the map of his mind, he saw many possible outcomes of another meeting, of which two stood out: profound embarrassment, which also somehow meant a destruction of the easy friendship they’d had; or a renewal of what had happened, which might be gratifying for a short time but could not possibly lead to anything good.  
  
He barely allowed himself to think back to the events of that evening. Fortunately, he was very busy, so it wasn’t hard not to think about anything besides the ungrateful task of transforming this rubbish heap into a shadow of what had once been his home.  
  
But however busy he may be, and however much he disciplined his mind, some small details would still bleed through. Spontaneously, and usually at the least opportune moments: talking to the President, writing a speech, opening a meeting...  
  
And in some very, very unfortunate moments, he would remember the whole incident.  


* * *

  
There had been no words.  
  
They had said all there was to say, and Garak had left the control room for the observatory, where he knew a handful of high-ranking Cardassian soldiers were milling about, trying desperately to coordinate first aid measures as well as communication between each other (which seemed to prove even more difficult).  
  
On his way there, he had stopped in another room, the door of which had been completely blasted away. The sun was setting behind the hills of Lakora, and the fact that there was even still a sun amazed him so much that he walked in, staring out of the window.  
  
He turned as he heard someone else come in, and saw Doctor Bashir, still looking overwhelmed with sadness. He wasn’t, however, looking at the scene of destruction outside; he was looking at Garak.  
  
Which of them made the first move, Garak would probably never know; although he did suspect it had been the doctor.  
  
All he knew that suddenly, they were kissing, hands in each other’s hair, clinging on to each other for dear life, and it felt as though they’d always been like this, because nothing about him was surprising, the feel of his hair, the taste of his mouth, the way his body seemed to fit so perfectly against Garak’s own...  
  
Then they let go, and the doctor took a full step back, his lips still parted.  
  
A split second before Garak made up his mind to reach out to him, Bashir turned and walked away.


	2. Chapter 2

Julian Bashir, having always found it easy to think in images, hid the memory of that afternoon on Cardassia in a drawer, and hid the drawer in a locked room at the back of his mind. And for three months, he wasn’t once tempted to look for the key again.  
  
After three months, his first disagreement with Ezri Dax came. He’d known one would come eventually and had been amazed how long it took. Three full months of bliss, of perfect harmony, of practically reading each other’s thoughts – he hadn’t thought he was capable of it. Even with his fiancée back on Earth, things had been rough; she’d had a pretty bad temper and he hadn’t wanted to be the one who always relented. His mother had called him stubborn whenever he’d told her about these fights, and he knew she wasn’t wrong. He’d thought he just wasn’t cut out for a harmonious relationship.  
  
And yet, here was this perfect union with Ezri – and even their first disagreement wasn’t a major one and was settled the night after.  
  
Still, as he lay in bed on the night they’d argued -Ezri had suggested that they should sleep alone for once and think things over- it so happened that he suddenly found a door in the back of his mind standing wide open.  
  
 _Don’t be ridiculous_ , he told himself sternly. _That’s a no-go area, and you can’t just wander in there whenever you’re angry with her. That’s not fair to her._  
  
And that first time, he succeeded.  
  
Other arguments followed and became a little more frequent after that, Ezri having figured out that she’d been too timid for her own good at first, holding herself back just to preserve the harmony. Now, she was acting more naturally, and every now and then they would fight, and again sleep in separate beds.  
  
The third time that happened, he only resisted the pull of the locked door a little bit, and in the end gave in.  
  
 _Two strides, and he was standing next to his friend, who was looking out at his homeworld with a broken look, and it hurt Julian so much that he felt the overwhelming urge to step closer, to comfort him somehow._  
  
 _Garak turned around, and his eyes blazed as they met Julian’s, who didn’t even think as he walked forward and took Garak’s face in his hands._  
  
 _Their lips met, and Garak held onto him, one hand between his shoulderblades and one hand in his hair. Without a second’s hesitation, Julian’s lips parted, and Garak responded eagerly, kissing him deeply like Julian had never –_  
  
“Dax to Doctor Bashir.”  
  
He sat up quickly in his bed.  
  
“Bashir here?” he said, trying to sound casual and failing, at least to his own ears.  
  
“Julian, I feel really bad about earlier. Can we talk it over at yours?”  
  
He hesitated.  
  
“Look, I know you’re probably mad at me,” she continued. “I shouldn’t have called you an immature kid. I’m sorry.”  
  
Guilt washed over him. Here she was, apologizing over the comsystem, and he was still trying to rid his mind of the image of kissing someone else.  
  
“And I shouldn’t have called you a grumpy old thing. I’m sorry too.”  
  
“Can I come over?”  
  
“Sure. I’d love you to.”  
  
They ended the communication, and he went quickly to the bathroom, splashing cold water into his face and staring at himself in the mirror.  
  
 _For fuck’s sake_ , he thought. _What am I doing?_ How could he be in love with Ezri and still have these fantasies? Was it just the thrill of something new, something forbidden, that was tempting him? He’d been together with Ezri for nearly five months now and their relationship was definitely entering the famous ‘not as much sex anymore, less excitement, more trust’ stage. But that was fine, he loved going on this journey with her and discovering new aspects to their relationship nearly every day.  
  
Maybe it was normal, thinking of other people occasionally. He definitely didn’t think one wasn’t allowed to look at other people. Still, looking and having that kind of fantasy were two different things.  
  
And if it wasn’t just a fantasy for the thrill of it, but something else, he was well and truly fucked.  
  
He shook his head. Enough of that.  
  
He was really glad she was coming over. She was so cute when she was upset.


	3. Chapter 3

Elim Garak considered himself a patient man. Many a time in his life (especially in his former secret one) this had come in handy: waiting for just the right moment when a man would crack, for example.  
  
Sometimes, though, his patience deserted him, and especially so with people who deliberately played obtuse.  
  
At least, he hoped that that was what Luvan was doing. If he really was that thick, Garak saw no future for Cardassia.  
  
“The president needs to reestablish his credibility,” the younger man was saying as they sat in the sparsely furnished statehouse cafeteria. Garak had foolishly agreed to meet him there, and was already regretting it twenty minutes into their conversation. “All those concessions lately haven’t made him look good. The people want someone who makes decisions, not someone who asks their opinion. Also, if we really want to make sure that the military doesn’t meddle in government anymore, we need a powerful president.”  
  
“And I suppose,” Garak said between gritted teeth, “you’ve been out and about asking the people and the military what they want, and have therefore been able to draw this impressively complete picture.”  
  
Luvan waved his objection aside with a careless hand. “If we did ask them, they’d just say they wanted food. But that’s not the point, Garak.”  
  
The cheek of the man. Not even using the proper address. Garak narrowed his eyes, just a fraction.  
  
“The point is,” Luvan continued, “what the Cardassians need, as a people, and this is something you can see throughout our history, is strong leaders, and firm decisions.”  
  
“Just because we’ve always done it like that doesn’t mean –” Garak stopped himself, suddenly.  
  
Oh, _now_ he could see what the man was getting at. He smiled a slow smile, and could see a reflection of it in the creases around Luvan’s eyes.  
  
“There’s a term humans use for what you’re doing, Luvan,” Garak said. “‘Playing the devil’s advocate’.”  
  
Luvan’s smile reached his mouth now, just a little. “Just trying to be helpful, Chief Advisor.”  
  
“I see.” Garak rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Your secondary point being, I assume, that we need to be careful not to fall back into old thought patterns.”  
  
“I do not know humans as well as you do,” Luvan said, regarding him squarely, “but I assume it is unwise for a devil’s advocate to reveal his secondary point.”  
  
Oh, he had been wrong about the man. Not obtuse at all, and not just with a secondary point, but also a secondary agenda. That little comment about his knowing humans well – Luvan had delivered it so disdainfully, Garak was sure he wasn’t just out for _political_ inspiration.  
  
He returned Luvan’s stare evenly. Oh, why not. One had to allow oneself a bit of fun every now and then.  
  
“Perhaps you would be amenable to joining me for dinner, then,” Garak said, “so that I can try to find out all the facets to your argument.”  
  
Luvan inclined his head, looking pleased.  
  
‘Dinner’ was of course a bit of a euphemism these days, as their agricultural and technological resources were still sparse, but being Chief Advisor to the President of Cardassia did have its advantages, and every now and then Garak was able to obtain a good piece of meat or a few special vegetables that actually made for a decent meal.  
  
He was therefore well sated when he seized Luvan by the shoulders and pushed him against the wall. Luvan, clearly familiar with the unwritten codes in this kind of situation - he was the younger man, after all - obligingly removed both their clothes and turned around, bracing himself against the wall.  
  
It was rough, but rough was good sometimes, and although the first time was over too quickly, it turned out that Luvan was also amenable to staying a little longer and revealing more facets to his argument.  
  
As Garak turned off his bedside lamp that night, he suddenly realized that it must have been close to five months since he had last thought of Julian Bashir.


	4. Chapter 4

It was on a study trip to Bajor that Bashir saw Garak again.  
  
He’d been in Ilvia for a week, participating in an interplanetary seminar about subatomic mutation (a fascinating subject and a couple of very interesting workshops). He had one more day ahead of him, at the end of which he was going back to DS9.  
  
He’d planned on using his last evening to do some sightseeing; he’d barely been outside the Institute all week, and there were some archaeological sites that he wanted to take a look at.  
  
A commotion in front of the Senate stopped him on his way to the Archaeological Institute: almost a hundred journalists and onlookers were pushing against a barrier erected in front of the entrance, and as Bashir stopped to have a look, he saw First Minister Shakaar getting out of a shuttle, accompanied by what Bashir recognized to be the Cardassian President, Tervel.  
  
It was when the two stepped in front of the cameras that Bashir realized that Tervel had brought a delegation with him, and the man standing right next to him was Garak.  
  
Bashir stood rooted to the spot, staring at his old friend. He looked so different. Garak was dressed less extravagantly than before; he looked more formal, more official. He also looked more at ease with himself than Bashir had ever seen him; even though right now he seemed tense, standing right next to the president, evidently prepared to prompt him whenever necessary. Impossibly, he also seemed to manage to have his eyes everywhere at once, perhaps looking out for possible attackers.  
  
Bashir knew next to nothing about Cardassian hierarchy, but it was pretty obvious that Garak was high brass.  
  
Almost as though he knew he was being particularly watched, Garak took a long, probing look around when the president came to the end of his last address, and Bashir’s stomach gave a funny jolt when Garak’s eyes met his.  
  
He watched as the Cardassian leant in and had a word with the president, who just nodded. As the entire delegation entered the Senate, Garak stayed behind, and ignoring the journalists who hailed him, he made his way towards Bashir.  
  
“Doctor,” he greeted him warmly, “It’s been too long.”  
  
“That it has,” Bashir agreed, and shaking Garak’s outstretched hand, he marveled at the subtlety with which Garak manoeuvred them slightly out of earshot.  
  
“I am ashamed to say I never found the time to get in touch,” Garak said.  
  
 _Interesting._  
  
He, of course, hadn’t been in touch either, but for very different reasons than lack of time. But if Garak was going to pretend nothing had happened, so would he.  
  
“Neither did I, so don’t worry yourself,” he said, adopting the same casual tone. “I can see life has been very busy for you as the Cardassian president’s right hand. What’s your official title then?”  
  
“Chief Advisor for Domestic and Interplanetary Affairs,” Garak said, inclining his head modestly.  
  
Bashir smiled. “So basically everything.”  
  
Garak shrugged. “I happen to have some experience in intercultural diplomacy,” he said, “and I am glad to be able to put it to use for my people’s benefit.”  
  
Bashir was very pleased to find Garak in a different mood from the dark one back then on Cardassia; although he knew that nobody ever changed completely, so he doubted very much that this was the whole truth.  
  
Garak then asked him about his life, and Bashir filled him in on the latest news from the station; not that there were many. There was a new liaison officer, though this time it was a Starfleet Commander who had taken that role while Kira had become station captain. Captain Sisko was still with the Prophets, and of the old band, none were left but Kira, Quark, Bashir and Ezri.  
  
Bashir felt kind of strange saying her name, and there was a tiny awkward pause in which he struggled with himself.  
  
In the end, his first impulse won.  
  
“Are you free for a drink tonight?” he asked.  
  
Garak smiled a small smile, and Bashir thought he would probably have asked the same thing if their situation had been different.  
  
After Garak had finished his debriefing with the president, they met in a bar by the Khayan Woods, not too far from the city centre. It was a pretty dingy place that sold cheap springwine and (as Bashir noted with a mixture of dismay and excitement) offered plenty of dark corners. Garak, explaining that he’d had enough of being stared at for one day, led them to one of these.

“This is an interesting place,” commented Bashir, trying to sound more confident than he felt.  
  
“Rather,” Garak agreed, and there was a twinkle in his eye.  
  
Over the next two hours, however, their conversation and manner were entirely innocent. Bashir was beginning to realize that Garak was really not going to mention what had happened between them the last time, but instead seemed intent on reestablishing their friendship-without-any-undertones.  
  
Still, he couldn’t help being nervous. He found himself watching the other man much more closely than he had used to, and studying his features in ways that had never before occurred to him.  
  
How was it that that very particular smile Garak had always had for him now made his stomach flutter?  
  
The guilt this brought on almost immediately was difficult to bear, so that Julian Bashir soon found that he was drinking far too much.  
  
“The woods are so beautiful in this season.” _Wait. When did the leaving-the-bar-and-going-for-a-walk-in-the-woods happen? –  Oh well._ “It never really gets dark in these months, and all the leaves have this sort of dark-yellowish glow to them, see?”  
  
“How well you observe,” commented Garak dryly, and Bashir laughed.  
  
“Don’t think I’m not aware of your making fun of me. Poor, drunk Doctor. But your speech is slurred, too. I can still hear it, you know.”  
  
“Of course you can,” Garak smiled. “And I cannot deny that I am going to regret that last half-litre in the morning.”  
  
“Just the half-litre, though.” And Bashir drew Garak closer to him before the other man had the chance to protest.  
  
It was so different, kissing someone when you were drunk. His judgment may be dulled, Bashir thought dimly, but his senses were exponentially heightened: He was aware of every inch of his body touching Garak’s, of the salty-sweet taste of the other man’s lips, the feel of his tongue on his, and he never wanted to stop, he wanted more, more. His every pore was tingling with desire.  
  
Then Garak grabbed his shoulders gently, yet firmly at the same time, and drawing back from him, held him there.  
  
“I’m going to give you fair warning,” he said in a low voice, and Bashir felt a thrill of dangerous anticipation. “But just once. Don’t count on me to stop this. If anyone does, it will have to be you.”  
  
Bashir swallowed. A tiny cloud of doubt hung in the back of his mind, but he blew it away. He was too far gone anyway.  
  
“Thank you,” he said, “for the warning.” And he grabbed Garak by the waist and pulled him sideways into the kava bush.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've raised the rating to Mature now because I'm not sure where the line is. It's way less explicit than some stories I've read, though, and will probably stay that way :)

Garak groaned quietly as he checked how many pages he still had left on the report. Normally, he didn’t allow himself that kind of cheating: when you sat down to a task, you followed it through, and checking on your progress in between was a forbidden distraction.  
  
However, the visit to Bajor had been long and strenuous, the boredom of their flight back was excruciating, and the reports about their various meetings, compiled by Garak’s direct subordinate, were too long and for the most part badly written. (Didn’t _anyone_ value style anymore?) Having decided to read through all of it first, he was trying to resist the urge to start editing at once. Still, page 14 of 67 was not a very encouraging number.  
  
As he gazed out at the stars streaking by his window, he found his mind wandering back to the previous evening in Ilvia.  
  
 _Stop it. No good dwelling on it now._ And yet, his mind wouldn’t listen.  
  
Page 27. Wasn’t that the age Julian Bashir had been when they’d first met?  
  
 _Oh for God’s sake, Elim. That is precisely one of the reasons you should stop thinking about him. Another one being, of course, that the man was just out for an adventure, is in a happy relationship and will likely ignore you should your paths ever cross again._  
  
In the end, after the third attempt at getting back into the report and finding himself being dragged back again and again into the Khayan Woods, he made a pact with himself. Those usually worked quite well. He would revisit that night once, completely, so as to fulfil his need, and then file it away.  
  
 _The Doctor’s hands were strong as they pulled him sideways through the bush and onto a plain of moss. Garak, equally strong, reaffirmed his grip on the other man’s shoulders and turned them both around so that he was on top._  
  
 _Bashir stared up at him, his gaze slightly out of focus, his mouth open. Delightful. Garak nipped at Bashir’s lower lip and was rewarded with a soft moan. He kissed him fully on the lips now and felt the Doctor’s hip jerking up instinctively. Oh now. These clothes were not going to be comfortable for much longer…_  
  


* * *

  
Julian Bashir sat in his quarters on Deep Space Nine, frowning. He had used his remaining free afternoon after getting back from Bajor to call Miles O’Brien. While it was always good to talk to his friend, this time he was left feeling unsatisfied, wishing he could have mentioned the thing that was uppermost in his mind.  
  
He got up and started pacing around his quarters. Oh God, he was in so much trouble. What had he been _thinking_? Alcohol was no excuse. In fact, he thought he’d probably known, somewhere deep down, what he was heading for when he ordered that one too many. And if he’d _really_ wanted to stop himself, he would have been able to.  
  
Garak wasn’t to blame. If Bashir reexamined the Cardassian’s behaviour, he had made it pretty clear from the start that he was available if Bashir wanted to seize the chance again, but that he wouldn’t be the one to start. And hadn’t he even warned him right after Bashir had kissed him again?  
  
And yet – Bashir hadn’t heeded his warning. Because he hadn’t wanted to. Because he’d wanted _him_ , badly.  
  
Bashir dropped back onto his couch and screwed his eyes shut, pressing his flat hands against them. He’d had _sex_ with _Garak_. In some moments, the mere fact was still unbelievable.  
  
In others, it was clear as daylight, and felt like it was right around the corner.  
  
 _As they rolled around again, each fighting to get the upper hand, they laughed, Bashir’s laugh catching in his throat as Garak grabbed his bum and ground his hips against his. Oh God. Bashir clung more tightly to Garak, slipping one leg between both of Garak’s as they settled side by side, and lost himself in the depth of Garak’s kiss as their hips began to rock in rhythm –_  
  
Bashir opened his eyes. He hadn’t just had sex with Garak, he’d had _incredible_ sex with Garak.  
  
And he really, really was in a hell of a lot of trouble. Because there was still Ezri, and he had no idea how to behave now, no idea what he even wanted. She was still her same lovely self, and he was still so very much attached to her. And yet, he couldn’t seem to erase last night from his memories, or lock it away.  
  
He started pacing again, frowning until he thought his head would start aching from it. He was being such an idiot. What was there to decide? Of _course_ he wanted to be with Ezri. Of _course_ there was no way it could ever work with Garak anyway.  
  
But how would he face Ezri now? How would he even be able to behave normally after what he had done?  
  
It was a fact now: there was no ‘back’ button. It was written history, and he’d somehow have to deal with it, one way or another.


	6. Chapter 6

“So bring me back something pretty,” Ezri said as they stood by the airlock, Bashir’s bag slung over his shoulder. “Something I can gaze at in my quarters when you next go on a two-week assignment.” She pouted, playfully, and he laughed.  
  
“I’ll do my best.” He leant down and kissed her. “Though I’m not sure Starbase 3 has such a wide range of shops. It looked more like a military installation on the plans.”  
  
“Yeah, well. I’m sure you’ll find something.” She stood on tiptoe to kiss him back. “Have a great time, sweetie. I hope those Starfleet doctors are nice to you.”  
  
She was referring to his fear (which she had half coaxed out of him and half guessed) of the other members of the research team being rude about his genetic enhancements, which he still thought was a likely scenario. Still, he’d been invited, so there was nothing much they could do.  
  
“Thanks. You might want to prepare for some long-distance counselling sessions.”  
  
“Is that how they call it these days,” Ezri said, and Bashir laughed. They kissed one last time, then he boarded his ship.  
  
Starbase 3, where he was participating in a multi-planetary research project initiated by the very people he’d met at the seminar on Bajor, was a five-hour flight away, so he settled into a corner of the cafeteria with a book and was undisturbed throughout.  
  
The book was too short, unfortunately, and so he found himself idly scanning the list of the people who’d signed up for the project. Oh – now that was interesting! Kera Rholen, the head of the Cardassian Science Faculty, was coming. He wondered if she’d been directly invited by the Bajorans. It certainly looked like their relations had been picking up considerably. The Cardassian President seemed very concerned with improving Cardassian-Bajoran relations, at any rate. Bashir wondered if his Chief Advisor had anything to do with it.  
  
He looked up from his PADD, staring out at the stars. Garak. He hadn’t actively thought about him for a while. Well, maybe once last week when he’d happened to walk past that point on the Promenade where his friend’s tailor’s shop had once been.  
  
It hadn’t been easy, hiding what had happened from Ezri, and dealing with his feelings of guilt, and sometimes he thought she suspected that something was wrong. A week after his trip to Bajor, they’d had a huge row, the biggest one they’d ever had, at the end of which she’d shouted at him to finally ‘come out with it’, whatever that meant. Their relationship had improved again after that, although sometimes it felt a little too much like they’d fallen into a routine.  
  
He shook his head at himself. What had she said the other night when they’d talked about her counselling sessions? (As station counsellor and doctor respectively, they never permitted themselves to hint at specific people and their issues, but they did have discussions about general topics inspired by their patients.)  
  
“If people find that they have no problems to speak of,” she had said, “they seem to have the tendency to create some for themselves.”  
  
  


* * *

  
  
“Chief Advisor!”  
  
There, he’d been spotted, and there was no shirking his duties now. Not that he would have, in the end, but the illusion had been good while it lasted.  
  
“Doctor Rholen,” Garak greeted his fellow Cardassian with what he privately called his Chief Advisor Smile: affable, yet slightly superior. “You appear unsurprised to see me on Starbase 3.”  
  
“Your aide sent word ahead,” said the older woman, bowing her head respectfully, although her eyes spoke a different language.  
  
Luvan. He was getting ahead of himself. Probably to impress him. “Well, that’s all for the better,” Garak smiled. “Then you know why I am here.”  
  
“To meet with your Federation counterpart,” Rholen nodded. “And your aide seemed to imply that you were also here to survey the research project.”  
  
There it was again, that hint of defiance in her look: enough for any intelligent Cardassian to pick up. Excellent. The republic needed strong-willed people like her.  
  
He smiled in what he hoped was a disarming manner. “Not to survey, Doctor. Merely to stand by should any, ah, diplomatic issues arise. We have, after all, not entirely regained the Alpha Quadrant’s trust.”  
  
She shrugged, every bit the scientist who cared nothing for diplomatic issues. “I’m just here to participate in a research project I’ve been invited to by my Bajoran colleagues. Should any _issues_ arise, I will deal with them.”  
  
“Very well, Doctor.”  
  
She stalked off, and Garak allowed himself a private grin.  
  
Yes, she was more than able to take care of herself. He’d been pretty sure of it anyway, given her reputation; but the president had insisted he combine his diplomatic meetings with a visit to Starbase 3 to make sure that this first post-war scientific cooperation went smoothly.  
  
However, Garak didn’t think it would be a problem to stay on site without actively involving himself in the surveillance of this project. If Doctor Rholen was so sure of herself, then he would take the hint and stay well away from the research team.


	7. Chapter 7

“Thank you for coming in defence of my theory this morning, Doctor,” said Kera Rholen, in that formal tone Bashir was now used to.  
  
They were sitting in a pub, somewhere on the lower decks of Starbase 3. Their other colleagues had already gone to bed. In fact, it was past midnight, which made this Day Four of their project, and Bashir wondered briefly where the first three days had gone.  
  
He smiled at the Cardassian. “There’s no need to thank me. I thought it was a valid point that nobody had mentioned yet.”  
  
She almost-smiled in return. “Thank you, Doctor, that is praise indeed coming from you. But I am not sure our colleagues were thinking of the scientific value of my suggestion when they ignored it.”  
  
Bashir frowned. “You think their motives were political?”  
  
“Certainly. And may I say how surprised I am that you seem to show no signs of similar prejudice towards me, seeing what you must have witnessed during the Dominion war?”  
  
“Well, that’s in the past, and that has nothing to do with our current cooperation.”  
  
That half-smile again: he was beginning to think that was all he would ever get out of her. “A logical argumentation, Doctor. But does not – what is that phrase – your gut feeling tell you that I am not to be trusted?”  
  
“No, it doesn’t,” he protested. “And it’s not as though I never met any nice Cardassians.” Although trustworthy – well, that was another issue.  
  
“I see.” She looked like she was about to ask him for more details, when suddenly a very different look passed over her face. “I don’t believe it. Can he not leave me alone?”  
  
“Who?” Bashir, following her gaze, turned towards the pub door. But just in that moment a large group of people sitting near the door got up and blocked his view.  
  
She exhaled in a hiss. “Oh, one of our politicians. Looks like he was sent here to ‘support’ me.” The sarcastic quotation marks were unmistakeable. “I told him I didn’t need his help. As if a politician chaperoning me would make matters better anyway.”  
  
Bashir, his heart beating fast, was craning his neck to see past the group – but when they had cleared, all he could see was a retreating back.  
  
“Well,” said Rholen beside him, sounding mollified. “Perhaps he has understood that he is not wanted here.”  
  
Bashir still had his eyes on the door. Had it been his imagination, or had that back looked familiar?

 

* * *

  
  
Garak had known it was highly unlikely that he would manage to avoid a meeting with Julian Bashir, and he was just glad he had made it this far without running into him. Had it been up to him, he would have left Starbase 3 right after assuring himself that Doctor Rholen was dealing with the situation by herself. Unfortunately, his meeting with the Federation president’s chief of staff had been rescheduled to the following week (he was trying not to take it personally), and he had a sneaking suspicion the Cardassian president would have asked him to survey the research project until the very end anyway.  
  
All things considered, he was not that surprised when he ran into Bashir on the fifth day of his stay on Starbase 3.  
  
Bashir seemed unsurprised too as they suddenly found themselves face to face on one of the starbase’s many observation decks. Garak supposed this meant that the doctor had known he was here and that he, too, had been avoiding him.  
  
“Doctor,” he said, inclining his head politely, determined to keep his distance.  
  
“Chief Advisor,” Bashir responded in the same fashion, though with a bit of irony, and Garak had to smile in spite of himself.  
  
There was an awkward pause as both, Garak thought, probably tried to decide whether to pretend they didn’t know why the other one was here.  
  
In the end, it seemed that Bashir couldn’t be bothered to even broach the subject. “I’m sorry I never wrote to you,” he said instead.  
  
Garak smiled away the human’s disconcerting candour. “I am sure you were very busy.” He could see the frustration this reply was causing, and oh, he couldn’t pretend that this did not delight him immensely.  
  
However, Julian Bashir was not a man to be scared away so easily. “How are you?” he asked, his body language embarrassed, yet his eyes all warmth. Honestly – how had a man like this, who wore his heart on his sleeve, managed to hide that secret about his genetic background?  
  
“I am fine, Doctor.” He hesitated before adding, “Also very busy, which may explain why I haven’t written to you.”  
  
“I suppose it may,” Bashir replied, and they shared a little smile.  
  
Another awkward pause. Garak was sure he had once been better at the art of conversation. But then, political office did not lend itself well to practising that; and also, Cardassian etiquette did not foresee a case such as theirs.  
  
“How much longer are you here for?” Bashir asked.  
  
“It depends on my engagements, but I think it may be till the end of next week.”  
  
“Ah, as long as me then.” The doctor hesitated, and Garak knew he had been on the brink of saying something quite different when he added, “Well, have a good stay then.”  
  
“You too, Doctor.” Garak smiled, bowed his head a little, and they went their separate ways.


	8. Chapter 8

Kera Rholen, as it turned out, could not take care of herself after all: one morning, a week into the Starbase 3 research project, she collapsed in the lab and fell into a coma.  
  
At first, the assembled doctors – all very distressed and eager to help – assumed that it was an illness, perhaps to do with her advanced age; Doctor Rholen, as their scans soon showed, was ninety-two, which was old even for a Cardassian. The doctors, having spent a week with her, had also noticed that she didn’t seem very mindful of a healthy diet and liked her evening kanaar as much as the next Cardassian.  
  
However, Julian Bashir and one of the two Bajoran doctors, Krin Diya, both far more experienced in Cardassian physiology than the others, soon found residues of unusual substances in Rholen’s blood, and within hours word had spread across the entire starbase that the Cardassian doctor had been poisoned.  
  
Garak found Bashir in a room at the back of the lab, frantically tapping away on a screen. He looked up as the Cardassian entered, and Garak thought it had been a long time since he’d looked so distressed.  
  
“Hold on a second, I’m on the trail of something here,” Bashir said in lieu of a greeting and returned to his screen. Garak watched, fascinated, as the doctor manipulated chemical formulas, the speed he was working at seemingly bypassing thought. Finally, Bashir let out a frustrated sigh as the structure on his screen collapsed in on itself, and closed the program with an impatient tap of his forefinger.  
  
“Sorry,” he said, collapsing, for his part, into a chair. “I was checking the relevance of a new antidote I’d read about, but the formula is still too unstable.”  
  
“You should take a break,” said Garak, sitting down opposite him. “Doctor Krin tells me you’ve been in here for two hours.”  
  
“Well, I don’t mean to sound arrogant, but two hours is nothing for me.”  
  
Garak smiled. “Of course not. But even you need to allow yourself to step back a little. After all, this is not your sole responsibility.”  
  
“I know that.” Bashir passed a tired hand over his eyes. “But I like Doctor Rholen. And I was really hoping this conference would be the first step towards… you know… peaceful cooperation with your people.”  
  
“So were we, believe me.” They were silent for a little while, Bashir doing some more research and Garak meditating on the possible outcomes of this incident. He was still getting over the reaction of the Cardassian president, whom he had spoken to earlier.  
  
“Who’s with Doctor Rholen now?” Bashir asked.  
  
“Doctor T’Pol and Doctor Barrow,” Garak replied. “And one of my staff as well as a Starfleet security officer.”  
  
Bashir raised his eyebrows. “You’ve set up a surveillance schedule?”  
  
“Naturally.” Garak steepled his fingers under his chin. “In consultation with Starfleet, of course. This may not have occurred to you, Doctor, but there is a distinct possibility that it was someone on your team who poisoned Doctor Rholen.”  
  
“That had actually occurred to me, thanks.”  
  
They shared a brief smile, broken by Bashir as he looked away. After a pause just long enough to make it feel awkward, he said, “I hope you’re not automatically suspecting the Bajorans. I know Doctor Krin knew Doctor Rholen back during the Occupation, but from what I understand –”  
  
Garak held up both hands. “My dear, we are trying to be as neutral as we can. We do, of course, need to take all the facts into account, but I assure you, we are far from making any hasty judgments.”  
  
“Well, good.” Bashir was looking uncomfortable, and Garak wondered whether the form of address he’d just used had been a little inappropriate.

 

* * *

  
Bashir finally allowed himself a lunch break at 1600 hours, having assured himself that the other doctors were just as committed to finding a cure for their Cardassian colleague, and that the security officers were keeping a close watch.  
  
In the replimat, he found Garak in the far back, staring out the window, a cup of tea in front of him that appeared untouched.  
  
Ignoring the warning voice in his head, Bashir went over.  
  
“Ah, Doctor,” Garak greeted him pleasantly. “You catch me rather lost in thoughts.” He studied Bashir’s plate interestedly, then seemed to become aware of the cup in front of him and raised it to his lips.  
  
“About Doctor Rholen?” Bashir asked.  
  
“‘About the state of the universe’ is probably more accurate,” Garak said, smiling. “That looks like an interesting dish. I don’t think I ever saw you eating it on Deep Space Nine.”  
  
“Don’t tell me you made notes on what I ate,” Bashir smiled. “Still got the file?”  
  
Garak replied with one of his most innocent smiles. “I have no idea what you could possibly mean, my dear doctor.”  
  
Bashir, feeling the heat at the back of his neck rising again as he stared into Garak’s eyes for a little too long, looked down at his food. “It’s called lasagne bolognese. Somehow they never got round to programming that into the DS9 replicators.” He took a bite. “Not bad. So aside from all attempts of distracting me from the subject, how’s the universe doing?” he asked, looking back up again.  
  
Garak’s smile turned a little more melancholy. “Oh, it all depends on the perspective, of course. But from the Cardassian one, things are, shall we say a little difficult.”  
  
Bashir paused as he took a few more bites. “I hope you’re not letting Doctor Rholen’s case get to you. It’s entirely possible that this has nothing to do with Cardassia’s current position in the Alpha Quadrant at all.”  
  
“I know that, Doctor,” Garak replied, wearing one of those annoying smiles that seemed to imply one was being obtuse, or naïve, or both. “Unfortunately, the President sees things a little differently.”  
  
“Ah, you talked to him about it?”  
  
Garak nodded, suddenly looking rather annoyed. He didn’t seem to want to elaborate, however. Bashir thought he knew why: criticizing the President, especially in front of a foreigner, must almost feel like treason.  
  
“And he thinks it’s definitely political?” he prompted.  
  
Garak gazed out the window, and after a long pause, said, “You know, I always thought of him as a progressive. Someone who thinks we need to change the whole perception of who we are as a race and how we want to shape our relationship with the rest of the Alpha Quadrant, just like I do.”  
  
Bashir nodded, fascinated. “But his reaction to this incident suggests otherwise?”  
  
“Oh, his reaction was just a complete backward step into old thought patterns. We need to preserve ourselves as a race, we need to minimize contact with other races so as not to run the danger of being annihilated, other races are inferior to us, you name it.” Garak looked immensely frustrated.  
  
“He got all _that_ from Doctor Rholen being poisoned?”  
  
Garak’s smile resurfaced a little at that. “Well, she’s one of our best people. She was overseer at the Bajoran Center for Science during the occupation, and she’s head of the Cardassian Science Faculty now. You see, the President seems to assume that one of our best minds being poisoned automatically means that this attempt of making peace with the Alpha Quadrant, this whole new era we’ve entered into, is a mistake.”  
  
The doctor was astonished, as much by what he was hearing about the president as by Garak’s complete candour. He was also rather flattered. When had the Cardassian last been so open with him?  
  
“Well, it might just be his knee-jerk reaction,” he said. “Doesn’t mean he’ll feel the same way tomorrow.”  
  
“Perhaps not,” said Garak, looking entirely unconvinced. Finally, he appeared to force himself back into his old cheerful manner. “Anyway, here I am, thinking dark thoughts out loud, while you are just trying to clear your mind of the whole sorry business for a while. I should perhaps leave you to your lunch.”  
  
“No, please,” Bashir protested. “It’s interesting. And believe it or not, it is relaxing not thinking about antidotes for a bit.”  
  
Garak smiled, and as they went on to talk about other things – the starbase’s facilities, the many different species here, culture in general and, finally, literature – Bashir did indeed forget all about work for a while.


	9. Chapter 9

“All I’m saying is, they were working at the same facility on Bajor during the 2350s.”   
  
“Still, that doesn’t prove anything.”  
  
“No, but it’s _interesting_ , don’t you think?”  
  
Bashir turned and stared at the two civilians sharing his turbolift. They ignored him, though, and continued their speculation loud enough for everyone to hear. He sighed inwardly. So not only had the news of Doctor Rholen’s illness spread through the starbase, but now people were also speculating about who’d done it. Their best bet seemed to be Krin Diya, who had indeed worked at the Bajoran Center for Science with Rholen.  
  
It was a relief to arrive at the lab: There was no gossip here, just his colleagues trying to get on with their work and trying their best to help Rholen. He made a point of smiling at Dr Krin, but the older man didn’t smile back.  
  
They’d decided they would take it in turns treating Dr Rholen; always with a second doctor to supervise, because although nobody had actually said so out loud and although the security footage hadn’t shown anything unusual, they _were_ all suspects.   
  
Meanwhile, the others would continue working on their initial project. It was soothing, going back to the experiments they’d started. Even evaluating the huge mass of data they’d compiled was relaxing. Bashir hadn’t really noticed before, but he enjoyed working with these people quite a bit. They were all very bright and very committed, and he couldn’t see any one of them poisoning someone, let alone one of their colleagues.   
  
He went to lunch with Doctors Jean Barrow and Faarol Sina, a human and a Bajoran woman who seemed to have formed an easy friendship and – if he was not mistaken – to have started some sort of competition over him. As if things weren’t complicated enough already.  
  
“How did you even _think_ of the anticoagulant?” asked Dr Barrow, smiling at him. “I swear, that was inspired.”  
  
“Oh, I just thought, treat the test dish like any other patient,” Bashir smiled. “And sometimes the most basic remedy does the trick. The mixture was clotting – which, by the way, I wouldn’t have noticed without you.”  
  
Oops, he thought as Barrow shot Faarol a triumphant look – apparently, she was under the impression that she’d just scored a point.  
  
This had once been his favourite pastime; why did impressing these two attractive, intelligent women not interest him in the slightest right now? Well, he _was_ in a relationship. Which reminded him – he should really call Ezri.  
  
“I was thinking we should work our way towards the male samples this afternoon,” said Faarol. “They look a little tougher to handle, but I think they’ll be worth it in the end.” There was a sardonic smile playing around her mouth as she looked at him. Barrow was just about to comment, no doubt with some witty comment of her own, when they were interrupted by one of Garak’s aides.  
  
“Chief Advisor Garak,” said the man, who for some reason didn’t look at Bashir directly, “wishes me to inform you that Doctor Krin Diya has just been arrested.”  
  
“What?!” Faarol jumped out of her seat. “On what grounds?”  
  
The Cardassian took a step back from the Bajoran. “You can address all questions and remarks to the security chief of Starbase 3. It was a joint decision of Starfleet and the Cardassian government.” He nodded curtly and left.  
  
“A joint decision, right,” spat Faarol. “I’m sure the Cardassians were only too happy to arrest a Bajoran scapegoat.”  
  
“I doubt it’s that simple,” Bashir said, getting up as well. He’d go and see if Garak had any new information on Doctor Krin. First of all, though, he’d make a stop at the lab. Something had just occurred to him: sometimes, the most basic remedy did the trick.

 

* * *

  
  
“So you just took him in because he’s the most likely candidate?” Bashir asked, sipping his coffee.  
  
Garak shrugged, gazing out at the stars. They were at the same table as yesterday, and it almost felt a little like old times.  
  
“We had to do something. The president was breathing down my neck, and the Federation government is similarly concerned. Not to mention that I’ve been getting twenty messages an hour from journalists all over the Alpha Quadrant, and their newsfeeds are turning more and more into tales of adventure involving a criminal-slash-murderer on the loose on the starbase.” He sighed.  
  
“Still, though,” Bashir protested. “Arresting a Bajoran without any real proof, it’s not bound to improve Cardassian-Bajoran relations. Do _you_ think he did it?”  
  
“I don’t know.” Garak frowned. “He’s an interesting one. Not really very forthcoming about anything.”  
  
“Yeah, I’d noticed that.”  
  
“He denies having poisoned Doctor Rholen, but other than that he doesn’t say much. I tried to ask him about his time at the Bajoran Center for Science, and he was rather evasive.”  
  
“Well, it’s not really a time he’ll want to remember,” Bashir mused, “if it was during the Occupation and he was in a position of power. Who knows what kind of demons he’s carrying around with him from that time.”   
  
“ _You_ seem to have developed more of an interest in psychology that I remember you having,” Garak observed, then regretted it at once. There she was, hovering unspoken between them like a reproachful phantom, and Garak wanted to reach out and comfort Bashir, who was blushing and looking away.  
  
“How is Doctor Rholen?” Garak asked, just to change the subject.  
  
Bashir brightened at that. “Ah, I think I may be on to something, but we’ll have to wait a bit for the effects to set in. It’s a pretty old-fashioned treatment, but since all the modern ones seem to have failed…”  
  
“Well, it’s good news that you haven’t given up hope,” said Garak. “What’s the old-fashioned treatment, then?”  
  
“Heat,” Bashir said, leaning back and smiling. “It’s close to 40°C in there at the moment. That, combined with a low-level bloodwash, and I think her body may slowly be healing itself.”  
  
“Ah, Doctor,” Garak smiled, “You were always very inventive, weren’t you.”  
  
For some reason, this compliment seemed to make Bashir uncomfortable. Hadn’t he always used to like being admired?


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

 

Garak, sitting in his quarters the next day, found his mind wandering continuously back to either Julian Bashir or the Rholen case as he tried to concentrate on his work. It was very difficult, and to top it all off, the Cardassian President kept sending him messages, each more ill-tempered than the previous one. Garak kept expecting the next message to contain an order to cancel his meeting with the Federation representative, or possibly to declare war on the Federation.  
  
The door chimed, and it was with no small amount of relief that Garak called for his guest to enter.  
  
It was Bashir, a PADD in his hand, looking perturbed.  
  
“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” he said, hovering in the doorway.  
  
“Not at all. Please come in – I can’t seem to concentrate on this anyway.”  
  
“Are you reading up on Doctor Krin?” Bashir asked, sitting down next to him, but with quite a bit of distance between them.  
  
“No, actually. I was trying to get up to date on Becca Jansen, the Federation president’s chief of staff. I’m meeting her this afternoon, and I haven’t actually done anything worthwhile on that ever since Doctor Rholen fell ill.”  
  
Bashir frowned. “Yeah, that’s been keeping us all distracted.”  
  
“How is she?”  
  
“Better. I think it’s working, but it’ll take some time.”  
  
“That’s excellent news,” Garak smiled.  
  
“Anyway, haven’t you got your aides to prepare for your meeting?”  
  
“Oh, they’ve been very helpful, but I like to do some of my own reading.”  
  
“Ever the freelancer,” Bashir smiled. “I’ve been wondering how this whole collaborating thing worked for you, anyway.”  
  
“Please, my dear.” Ah, that address – it had slipped out again. It didn’t look as though Bashir minded this time, though. “I am perfectly capable of working in a team.”  
  
“As long as you remain in control.”  
  
“Naturally.”  
  
That smile – it was so gratuitously given, and yet it always felt like such a reward.  
  
“Anyway,” said Bashir, growing serious again, “I wanted to talk to you about Doctor Krin, if you’ve got a moment.”  
  
He did indeed – and if he could stop being an emotional fool, he might even be of use.

 

* * *

  
  
An hour later, they were still in Garak’s quarters, both going through old Bajoran and Cardassian files they’d found in various databases, both having used various illicit methods of obtaining them, spurring each other on in their research fever, seemingly finding a new piece of the puzzle every minute.  
  
Rholen and Krin had both been at the Bajoran Center for Science during the 2350s, that infamous dark period that historians had only just begun to unravel. More and more accounts had come to light recently, supporting the claim that this period had been – among other things – a time of various medical tests conducted on Bajoran civilians.  
  
“Interesting,” Garak said, and Bashir got up to have a look over his shoulder. “According to this eyewitness account – mind you, her mind seems to have been rather troubled, but one should always listen to every witness –”  
  
“‘Witness claims Doctor Kera Rholen and Doctor Krin Diya saved her from being tested, knowing that she was already suffering from a minor form of schizophrenia,’” Bashir read. “‘Witness explicitly states the involvement of both doctors and mentions her surprise at a Bajoran and a Cardassian doctor working together.’”  
  
“Are you all right, Doctor?” Garak turned around to look into his eyes. “You sound distressed.”  
  
Bashir sighed, sitting back down again. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve been reading some pretty gruelling accounts this past hour. Patients being kept barely alive, patients fully conscious while being injected with God-knows-what…”  
  
“Yes, it must be particularly troubling to you as a doctor,” Garak nodded, and Bashir felt a shiver running down his spine at the Cardassian’s matter-of-fact tone. For all his teasing, he did forget about Garak’s past sometimes.  
  
“However,” Garak said, “at the risk of sounding careless, we must concentrate on the question at hand. This isn’t the first account of Doctors Rholen and Krin working in favour of the patients that I’ve read. I can’t find any evidence of Doctor Rholen having been the main instigator of these experiments, although I do hope my research isn’t biased.”  
  
“There seems to be a repeated mention of another doctor ordering these experiments,” Bashir said, going through more accounts in the database he had just hacked into. Garak was right – they had to concentrate, but it was so nauseating to find out that the experiments had indeed happened, and to what extent. “None of the witnesses seem to want to name this person, though. Wait a second – oh!”  
  
“Found something?” Now Garak leaned over to have a look.  
  
“‘Tests appear to have been ordered by Doctor Faarol’ – hold on a sec, if I do a search for that name – oh my God. ‘Witness recognizes a picture of Doctor Faarol as the man she once saw giving orders to Doctor Krin’ – ‘All evidence seems to point to Faarol Najer as being head of operations’.” Bashir looked up, and suddenly found Garak’s face very close to his. His heart, impossibly, started beating even faster.  
  
“Faarol Najer,” Garak said, drawing back. “Any relation?” They started tapping away on their PADDs separately, and came up with the answer at the same time.  
  
“He’s Faarol Sina’s father,” Garak said, and Bashir stood up suddenly. “Oh God. She was with Doctor Rholen when I left an hour ago.”  
   
“Alone?” Garak asked as they hurried out of his quarters and towards the lab.  
  
“No, Doctor T’Pol was there, and so was security. But who knows.”  
  
The silence was tense between them as they stepped into a lift. After what seemed like an eternity, they arrived at the lab.  
  
Doctor T’Pol looked up as they entered. “Doctor, Chief Advisor,” she nodded at them. She looked like she was enjoying the heat. “The patient appears to be recovering, at a very slow rate, but your treatment seems to be effective, Doctor Bashir.”  
  
“Where is Doctor Faarol?” Garak asked as Bashir, shedding his uniform jacket in the sweltering heat, walked over to check the patient’s status himself. All seemed to be in order; Doctor Rholen was indeed recovering.  
  
“Doctor Faarol left the lab about ten minutes ago,” T’Pol replied. “She said she needed to ‘check something’.” She raised an eyebrow, seemingly disapproving of the overly vague expression. “Is something the matter?”  
  
“I’ll let you know,” Bashir said, nodded at her, then followed Garak out of the lab.


	11. Chapter 11

They found Faarol Sina in security, talking to Krin Diya. Faarol looked calm, but Krin was even more tense than usual and seemed relieved when Bashir and Garak came in.  
  
After a muttered conversation with the starbase’s security chief, Garak asked Faarol if she would mind answering some questions. Bashir thought that if she was indeed involved in this business, she was pretty good at the ‘surprised innocent’ look. Garak seemed to think so too, because he looked at her out of narrowed eyes, and his smile looked rather predatory.  
  
Garak, Bashir and the security chief, Lieutenant Warren, followed Faarol into the back office and sat down opposite her. She looked nervous, but defiant.  
  
“Doctor Faarol,” Garak said, in his most pleasantly dangerous tone, “We have just come upon some interesting information on which we would like to consult you, if you would oblige us.”  
  
“Information concerning Doctor Rholen?” Faarol asked, her expression open and honest.  
  
“Concerning your father,” Garak shot back, and Bashir saw a tiny flicker of emotion cross over her face.  
  
“My father?” she asked, in a tone of surprise.  
  
“Faarol Najer,” Garak specified and got up, walking over to the computer console. “Now, according to the official records, Faarol Najer worked for the Bajoran Occupational Government in Hathon up until his death in 2364. Can you confirm this?”  
  
“Of course I can confirm it,” Faarol Sina said, sounding a bite impatient, and Bashir thought that if they were wrong, Garak mentioning her father’s death so casually would not sit so well with her.  
  
“It says here,” Garak went on, “that he was a medical expert stationed at the government headquarters in Hathon. How do you explain, then, the records that I found of Faarol Najer working at the Bajoran Center for Science in Ilvia from 2347 to 2356?” Garak pointed out the relevant files to Warren, who had gotten up as well and studied them interestedly. “It does appear to be the same person.”  
  
Bashir noted, gratefully, that Garak had left his participation in their research unmentioned. He kept his eyes on Faarol Sina. She was either trying to remember, or doing some quick thinking.  
  
“Well, I guess he could have been posted there for a while. I don’t know. My father wasn’t home much, and I never had much of an idea what he did.”  
  
Garak smiled a little more, and Bashir thought that in Faarol’s place he would probably start getting worried now. “You appeared very sure just now when you said that he worked in Hathon up until his death.”  
  
“Well, I lived in Hathon with my parents,” Faarol said, and Bashir suddenly noticed the telltale signs of a Bajoran who wasn’t telling the whole truth. They didn’t tend to sweat, but there were more creases around her eyes now, and her skin looked a little dull.  
  
“But like I said,” Faarol continued, “my father wasn’t home much, and my mother didn’t really talk about where he went. So maybe he was in Ilvia for a while, and always came home to Hathon in the evenings.”  
  
“Right in the middle of the Occupation? You think he had that many privileges and could afford going back and forth between two cities every day?”  
  
“Look, what do I know?” she said, getting angry now. “I was really young at the time.”  
  
“You were 14 in 2356,” Garak retorted. “Not too young to know where your father went every day.”  
  
“What does this have to do with anything?” she protested. “Why are we even talking about my father?”  
  
Bashir, now almost certain that she was hiding something – it was all there, the deflection, the excuses, and now the aggression – shifted his focus to Garak, who was looking immensely pleased. It was a little worrying.  
  
“We are talking about your father,” the Cardassian said, slowly and still in that terribly pleasant voice, “because he worked at the Bajoran Center for Science with Doctors Krin Diya and Kera Rholen during the Occupation, and more importantly during the 2350s, and you did not see fit to mention this when we questioned you on Monday.”  
  
They’d all been taken in for questioning after Doctor Rholen had fallen ill. Bashir’s interview had been a slightly disconcerting one, with Warren asking a lot of questions about his past experience with Cardassians while Garak hovered in the background, trying not to look him in the eye.  
  
“Well, I didn’t _know_ he was there,” Faarol spat.  
  
“I think you did,” Garak said, and sat back down, right in front of her, _just_ a little too close for comfort. His voice was as soft as silk. “And somehow, his having been there is linked to Doctor Rholen’s illness. What will she tell us when she comes round, I wonder? Will it have something to do with the fact that your father appears to have ordered and carried out a massive number of medical tests on Bajoran civilians during the Occupation?”  
  
Faarol Sina stared back at him, and Bashir could see her swallowing. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”  
  
Garak leaned back, crossed his arms and held her stare, still smiling. The tension in the room was palpable as the seconds ticked away.  
  
Just as Bashir thought Faarol was going to say something – possibly demand a lawyer – Garak leaned forward again and said, softly, “It’s hard to face the fact that someone so close to you was a traitor, isn’t it?”  
  
Faarol jumped from her seat and looked like she was about to strike Garak. Warren and Bashir hurried forward, but Garak was out of his seat too, and with a quick gesture motioned for them to stay where they were.  
  
“Well?” he breathed, as he stood inches apart from the Bajoran.  
  
“You’ve got some nerve,” she said through gritted teeth, hatred written all over her face. “You keep us like _slaves_ for decades, you use and abuse our best minds, and you have the _nerve_ to call us traitors!”  
  
“Not all of you,” Garak rectified, in that unnervingly calm voice.  
  
“My father was no traitor!” Faarol shouted. “ _She_ did it, all of it!”  
  
“Doctor Rholen?”  
  
“Of _course_ Doctor Rholen!” Faarol started pacing up and down. “She forced him to carry out tests on his fellow citizens! She made him do things he never –” Her voice broke, and she started to cry.  
  
Garak stood where he was, watching her. “So you avenged your father,” he said, matter-of-factly.  
  
Faarol fell back into her chair. “You should have seen him in his last years,” she sobbed. “It ate him up inside, what he did. She destroyed him. She deserved no better.”  
  
Garak sat back down, too. “And you never questioned what he told you?” he asked, in a tone that sounded like he was purely after scientific interest now.  
  
She looked at him out of wet eyes. “What?”  
  
“You never considered that perhaps it _wasn’t_ Doctor Rholen who ordered him to do these things?”  
  
Bashir shot a quick look at Warren. The man looked fascinated and unwilling to intervene. Bashir, however, thought that if he didn’t do something now, this interrogation would take a very bad turn indeed.  
  
“That’s enough, Garak,” he said firmly. The Cardassian looked at him, an annoyed expression on his face.  
  
“We got our answer,” Bashir clarified, hoping Garak would let it go. It didn’t look like it at first; but after a moment the steely expression on his face softened.  
  
“Very well, Doctor,” he said, getting up. “Lieutenant Warren, I’ll leave Doctor Faarol in your capable hands. Here,” he pointed at the console, “are all the relevant files. We can compile a joint report this afternoon, perhaps at 1600 hours? I have an important meeting at 1400.”  
  
Bashir, marveling at the quick transition from interrogator to political businessman, saw Warren nod. What the other man was thinking was anyone’s guess.  
  
Garak, without another glance at Faarol, left Security. Bashir followed as Warren led Faarol out of the office and into a confinement cell. Krin Diya watched, but asked no questions.  
  
“Sina,” Bashir said, approaching Faarol’s cell. “Will you tell me what you gave her?”  
  
“As if you couldn’t work it out yourself,” she said, her back turned to him.  
  
“Well, I’ve been trying for three days.”  
  
She shrugged. “Your treatment is working. She’ll be fine.” She sounded bitter, and Bashir thought that any further attempt at a conversation would be wasted on her.  
  
As he turned to leave, she called him back.  
  
“Why do you socialize with that Cardassian, Julian?”  
  
He looked back at her. She was sitting at the far end of her cell, her arms crossed in front of her chest, staring at him.  
  
“They’re not to be trusted, you know,” she said. “None of them.”  


* * *

 

“The _T’Pren_ leaves in an hour, sir.”  
  
Garak looked up. His aide, Luvan, was standing in the doorway, studying him. Garak sighed inwardly. He should never have allowed the man to share his bed more than once; people always started getting ideas above their station. As if the way Luvan had been glaring at Doctor Bashir all week hadn’t been enough of a hint, he was now staring at him in an open-invitation kind of way.  
  
“Thank you, Luvan, that will be all,” Garak said, in his best clipped voice, and his aide seemed to get the hint and left.  
  
All had been packed up and all had been dealt with; his meeting with the Federation representative had gone well, Faarol Sina had been arrested and Krin Diya released (the old man still hadn’t said much and Garak suspected he never would), and Kera Rholen had woken up and was expected to make a full recovery.  
  
All that remained now was taking leave of the man he had once again grown far too used to being around.  
  
He found Bashir in the lab – naturally. The man was half-married to his work, but that was one of the things that had always endeared him to Garak.  
  
They went on a stroll along one of the many observation decks. Their attempts at small talk were partly successful; mainly, though, they seemed to be trying to distract each other.  
  
Finally, Bashir walked Garak onto the _T’Pren_ , claiming that he’d never actually been on a Vulcan starship.  
  
“So she’s taking you to DS9,” he said as they walked towards the quarters Garak had been assigned.  
  
“And from there we take a Federation starship going to Cardassia Prime,” Garak nodded. “I forget the name. Not the most glamorous way for the Cardassian delegation to travel, but…” He trailed off. Bashir knew as well as he did that they just didn’t have enough resources yet to use an own starship when Federation starships taking that route anyway were perfectly willing to escort them.  
  
“I’m sure the time will come when you’ve got your own private ship,” Bashir said, and smiled when he saw Garak shudder.  
  
“I’m really not cut out for this whole politics thing, you know,” he confessed in a low voice.  
  
“Oh please, no false modesty,” Bashir grinned. “That’s not the Garak I know.”  
  
Garak stopped, having arrived in front of his quarters, and turned to Bashir. For a moment, they just looked at each other. Then, without thinking, Garak stepped forward, took the doctor’s face in his hands, and kissed him.  
  
Bashir said nothing as Garak stepped back, but he looked terribly troubled.  
  
“I’m sorry, my dear,” Garak murmured. “You’ve been so good all week.”  
  
Bashir shook his head ever so slightly. “Not in my mind I haven’t.”  
  
They shared a smile, then, which was quickly broken by Bashir looking away, and Garak took one step further back and inclined his head in farewell. Bashir mirrored him, and after they had exchanged a few polite words about their travels, and a few insignificant ones about staying in touch, they parted.  
  
In his quarters, Garak dropped onto the couch and stared out at the stars.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long hiatus, everyone. Will try to do better (but might not - bit busy in January). But this is not the end. ;-)


	12. Chapter 12

Bashir knew the moment he laid eyes on Ezri that their relationship was doomed.  
  
There she was, waiting for him at the dock, smiling her lovely smile; looking perhaps a little reproachful but overall just glad to see him – and all he could think was that he wanted to be alone.  
  
“Welcome back,” she said, standing on tiptoe to kiss him. “You’re probably really exhausted. Do you want to eat something, or have a drink? Or do you just want to go to bed?”  
  
“I ate on the ship, actually,” he said as they walked away from the dock hand in hand. “And I think I’m a little tired for drinks right now. Bed sounds good.”  
  
“Right.” She paused, then added, “Alone? Cause that would be fine if you’re just exhausted.”  
  
He stopped to look at her, all vulnerable and strong at the same time, and in that moment, he really loved her. “No, of course not.” He kissed her. “Can we go to mine?”  
  
They made urgent, passionate love in his quarters, and Bashir drifted off to sleep very quickly afterwards.  


* * *

  
Back on Cardassia, Garak was caught in a mental loop, or rather several at the same time, that he was finding it quite hard to get out of.  
  
If only he had never come to Deep Space Nine (had never betrayed Tain – had never joined the Obsidian Order?) and met Julian Bashir – if only he had never befriended and come to depend so much on the silly, silly Human – had never reacted to the man’s advances, had at least had the sense to turn him down that second time – –  
  
All those things that had led to him making an absolute fool of himself when saying goodbye to Bashir on Starbase 3, and he could not forgive himself for losing control like that.  
  
(And yet – Bashir had said that he hadn’t been “good in his mind”, and Garak’s mind went wild at the memory of that phrase, imagining them together again, in a proper bed this time, the other man beneath him, crying out in pleasure –)  
  
Garak shook himself forcefully out of it. This was absolutely ridiculous. Never, at any point in his life, had he allowed himself to be so emotionally swept up by somebody. By things, _causes_ , yes: his first years in the Order, his present total commitment to the rebuilding of his homeworld… But no other person had ever made such an impact on him. And never, during all those years on Deep Space Nine, even those times when he had eyed the Doctor appreciatively, perhaps even wondered what he would look like out of that hideous uniform –  
  
Well now.  
  
And what was more, he hadn’t just allowed the doctor to affect him emotionally (and physically), he had also let down his guard, shared things with Bashir he ought not to have shared, talked about Cardassian politics with him as though they were actually in an intimate relationship… He couldn’t deny to himself that it had felt wonderful, finally talking to someone who understood him again. And even though he knew from past experience that Bashir’s views were quite different from his own, he’d always seen that more as an asset than anything else.  
  
But it was dangerous, opening up so much, especially to an outsider who would never be fully available to him.  
  
Something had to be done, and the answer wasn’t his aide Luvan, who was a welcome distraction, but only on a physical level. He needed something – someone – more fulfilling to take his mind off Julian Bashir.  
  
Perhaps he should take his friend Rotas up on his offer and meet one of his many brothers and sisters one of these days.  


* * *

  
In the evening, Bashir met up for a drink with Kira and some of their new colleagues at Quark’s, where Ezri joined them later. Bashir told them about his time on Starbase 3 and thought that Ezri was looking at him in an odd fashion, but she was silent.  
  
When everyone had gone to bed and Bashir was just about to suggest that they do the same, Ezri said, “Why didn’t you mention that Garak was there too?”  
  
Oh God, she was good, wasn’t she.  
  
He allowed himself to blink once. “You’re right, I forgot to mention that. I guess I was just so caught up in the retelling of the attempted-murder mystery, y’know…” He smiled his most convincing smile.  
  
“What was he doing there?” she asked, and he thought the expression on her face looked carefully neutral.  
  
He explained Garak’s role on Starbase 3, then asked, “How did you know he was there?”  
  
“Saw it on the newsfeed.” She paused. “There were some pictures of the two of you“ – His stomach contracted – “having dinner together,” she finished off. “The journalist made it sound a little like you were exchanging state secrets or something.”  
  
Bashir studied her. She was smiling, but it didn’t look quite convincing. Or maybe he was just paranoid.  
  
“No state secrets,” he shrugged. “We mainly talked about the doctor who fell ill on the starbase, really.”  
  
And he changed the subject – successfully, for the time being.


	13. Chapter 13

“So are you going to tell me what’s going on?”  
  
Bashir looked up from his dinner. Ezri looked anxious, but defiant.  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“You know what I mean, Julian. Are you going to tell me what’s been on your mind lately? Something’s going on that’s affecting our relationship, and please don’t deny it, cause I’m way too old for you – even _you_ – to lie to me.”  
  
In her eyes, he saw what he had only glimpsed a couple of times with her, and a few more with Jadzia: that incredible coexistence of a young, fairly inexperienced person and a very old being with more life experience than he could ever imagine.  
  
He swallowed. “Ezri…” He faltered. Where could he possibly start? What did he even want to say to her?  
  
She crossed her arms and just looked at him expectantly, and for once he knew he wasn’t going to get any help.  
  
“I…” He swallowed again. “I don’t know where to start.”  
  
“Beginning’s usually a good place,” she said, her voice tinged with that sarcasm that he’d always loved about her.  
  
“Right.” He hesitated again, his mind racing.   
  
“I guess the beginning’s back on Cardassia after the war,” he said finally. “It was right after the final Dominion attack. I was down on the planet…” He swallowed. “…talking to Garak, and I don’t really know what happened, but we… well, we ended up kissing.”  
  
When he finally dared to look at her, he found that she looked calm. Not surprised, at any rate.  
  
“I thought it was probably something to do with him,” was all she said.  
  
“You did?”  
  
“Well, since you didn’t tell me about meeting him on Bajor and I had to hear about that from a Bajoran friend of mine who saw you two talking in front of the Senate…”  
  
He winced. “Sorry.”  
  
“… and you were pretty evasive about meeting him on Starbase 3,” she continued, “well, I just figured. So what happened between you two those times?”  
  
“Um. We kissed again.”  
  
“I see.”  
  
Ezri got up and walked to the window, turning her back to him, and Bashir knew that whatever he did, whatever she asked, he would never breathe a word of that night on Bajor. No matter what some people claimed: nobody wanted the full truth, not really, not if it hurt too much.  
  
“I’m sorry, Ezri.”  
  
There was a long silence.  
  
“I didn’t know what to do,” he added.  
  
“That much is obvious,” she said sardonically.  
  
After another long moment, she turned around to him and studied him critically, almost as though he were a patient. “So what is it that you want, Julian?”  
  
He sat there, battling the urge to get up and take her in his arms, knowing that that was the last thing she wanted right now; it would only serve to soothe his own conscience.  
  
“I don’t know.”  
  
She shook her head slightly and rolled her eyes – almost as though she were mildly exasperated, yet amused, at one of her patients not having a clue about their own wishes and expectations.  
  
“Let me help you with that then, shall I?” she said with a sigh.  
  
He said nothing, afraid of upsetting her.  
  
“You know me, Julian,” she shrugged. “And you knew Jadzia. You can be pretty sure that I’m not likely to make a huge scene just because you kissed someone else.”  
  
He frowned. “I couldn’t be sure, though.”  
  
“No, I guess you couldn’t.” She sighed. “But the fact that it happened several times and, more importantly, that you didn’t mention him to me at all is kind of telling.”   
  
She approached him again and sat in the chair next to his. He still felt like he was being counseled more than anything else. Maybe this was how she protected herself.  
  
“What would have happened if you and I hadn’t been together?” she asked. “Do you think you and Garak would have tried to make it work?”  
  
He blinked. It was sometimes hard to believe how strong this girl was.  
  
“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “We never talked about it. Maybe.”  
  
She looked down at her hands, and following her gaze, he saw that they were trembling ever so slightly.  
  
“Do you love him?”  
  
On impulse, he reached out to her, but she drew back. “Answer me, Julian.”  
  
“I…” He shook his head in frustration. “I’m starting to sound like a voice recording on a loop. I don’t know. I’m sorry.”  
  
“‘I don’t know’ isn’t ‘no’, though,” she said.  
  
He swallowed and, for the first time in a little while, looked at her directly. “No, it isn’t.”  
  
She held his gaze for a second, then looked back down at her hands. “That’s a little different from just kissing, then,” she said quietly.  
  
Oh, God. This was agony. How could he do this to her, to this wonderful, beautiful woman? And yet – she was right. It wasn’t just kissing. It wasn’t even just two kisses and a never-to-be-mentioned one night stand. It had always been more.  
  
“I’m so sorry, Ezri,” he said again, knowing it wasn’t enough, knowing he needed to say it anyway.  
  


* * *

  
And so it came that three weeks later he was on the USS _Agder_ , on its way to Cardassia to deliver relief supplies. He had taken ten days’ leave and hardly any luggage.  
  
The ship’s doctor was an old friend of his from the Academy, and he helped take Bashir’s mind off what lay behind and before him for the most part. Whenever Parker was busy, however, Bashir would wander the ship’s corridors restlessly, trying not to think about anything (impossible), trying not to build up any expectations (very hard).  
  
Once they’d arrived in orbit, he made a lunch appointment with Parker for the following day, then beamed down to the capital.  
  
He’d done some research back on the ship, found out where to find Garak and memorized the itinerary. It took him through a part of town that had only been partially reconstructed so far, and he slowed his step on the bumpy road beneath his feet, trying not to stare at the families in their half-repaired houses and at the many people on the streets, many of them clearly still homeless.  
  
As he reached a quieter part of town, and finally turned into an empty alleyway, he became aware of quiet footsteps behind him. He quickened his step just a little and heard the other person do so, too. Was it perhaps illegal for foreigners to walk through this bit? He thought he’d turn around and ask his pursuer –  
  
– and just then, the man caught up with him and Bashir felt a hypospray pressed forcefully to his neck, and he fell into darkness.


	14. Chapter 14

Bashir awoke to a blinding light shining through his eyelids. He opened his eyes just a crack, trying to adjust them to the light.  
  
A grey chamber, with seemingly nothing in it but the chair he was sitting on and another chair in front of him, which was empty.  
  
“Julian Bashir,” said a voice from the far corner of the room, and he was still so drugged that he couldn’t make out whether he knew the voice or not. “I assume that you know why you are here.”  
  
He thought it best not to say anything until all his senses functioned normally again. Or until he woke up from this dream – whichever it was.  
  
“You are here,” said the voice, which seemed to be coming closer, “because you are believed to be a threat to Cardassia.”  
  
A man stepped from the shadows, and Bashir blinked at him hazily. He didn’t know him. Or did he? He was Cardassian, that much was certain, probably about his age, wearing a sort of uniform that seemed vaguely familiar. Bashir screwed his eyes shut. This drug-addled state his mind was in was unbearable. His hippocampus seemed to be barely functioning (although he knew that must be an illusion), and where exactly were his amygdalae again?  
  
If this was a dream, he’d never had one like it.  
  
“Cardassia has been through much lately,” the man continued, sitting down opposite Bashir, “and we cannot afford threats. So we will determine whether you are trustworthy or not. Friend – or foe.”  
  
Bashir squinted at the man again. Something _was_ familiar about him – the face, and the voice… But he didn’t really know him, had just met him briefly, or…  
  
And why couldn’t he remember the name of the man who could surely get him out of here?  
  
“Speak,” the man suddenly bellowed at him.  
  
Bashir opened his mouth, but no words came out. His throat felt parch-dry. He wouldn’t even have known what to say anyway.  
  
The man stared at him, then got up abruptly. A moment later, he returned with a glass of water, which Bashir gulped down.  
  
“Now, _Doctor_ Bashir,” said the man, his voice dripping with fake courtesy, “will you kindly tell me the purpose of your visit to our world.”  
  
Bashir blinked. If only he could remember.  


* * *

  
Garak had just decided to head home after a fourteen-hour day when one of his aides alerted him to an urgent call from Deep Space Nine.  
  
The face that appeared on his screen couldn’t have surprised him more.  
  
“Ezri,” he said, unable to disguise his amazement.  
  
“Garak,” she said, and he suddenly realized that he had never seen her this tense (hostile?).  
  
Was it possible that Doctor Bashir had told her about them?  
  
“Garak,” she repeated as he still tried to think of something to say. “I –” she faltered.  
  
“How may I help you, Lieutenant?” he said, trying to sound politely distant. He didn’t want to provoke her by sounding too friendly.  
  
She hesitated for a moment longer, then said, “Look, this is pretty awkward, and I’ll be honest with you, I would have avoided contacting you if it could have been helped.”  
  
Oh, _now_ he was getting worried.  
  
“Go on,” he said, trying to remain calm.  
  
“It’s Julian. He left DS9 three days ago for Cardassia, but he hasn’t been seen ever since he got off the ship that took him there. The ship’s doctor just contacted me.”  
  
Garak frowned. This was the first he heard of Doctor Bashir being on Cardassia. Why would he not have told him? “Are you sure about this?”  
  
Ezri, mirroring his frown for a moment, probably wondering the same thing he did, nodded. “He definitely arrived on Cardassia yesterday morning, and the ship’s doctor, who’s an old friend of Julian’s from the academy, said they’d arranged to meet up for lunch today, except that Julian never showed up, and Doctor Parker was worried so he asked at the lodgings Julian was going to stay at, only he never arrived there.” She drew breath.  
  
Whatever may have happened between them: she obviously still cared about him.  
  
Garak leaned forward. “I will find him, Ezri. I promise.”  
  
She nodded, pursing her lips and staring at him, then cut the connection.  
  
Garak blinked at his screen once, twice, then got up and left his office in a hurry.  


* * *

  
Bashir thought he might finally have regained all of his senses and complete control over his mind. Not having eaten and having slept briefly and badly in thirty-odd hours wasn’t helping, and he was getting increasingly worried about his interrogator’s degree of madness, but at least he could think.  
  
He now knew it wasn’t a dream, and he remembered where he knew this man from. He also remembered Garak’s name and title. Unfortunately, asking to see the latter, repeatedly, hadn’t seemed to register with his interrogator, who just kept at it relentlessly.  
  
“Outline for me, if you will,” the man said in a low voice that was almost a whisper, “your activities during the Dominion war, especially concerning the fight against Cardassia.”  
  
Bashir swallowed. He’d last had a glass of water this morning, about seven hours ago.  
  
“Not in the mood to talk?” asked the man, as Bashir remained silent. “Or feeling guilty for what you participated in?”  
  
“I’d have thought that was _your_ role,” said Bashir, unable to hold himself back.  
  
The man sprang to his feet and approached him, and this time Bashir thought he was really going to strike him. But, as before, the man only stopped a few inches before him, glaring at him. For the first time, Bashir could clearly see hatred in the man’s face.  
  
“All right,” said the Cardassian with forced calm. “let us talk about Chief Advisor Garak, since you are so very eager to see him.”  
  
Through the dull pain in his stomach, his headache and his mounting panic, Bashir was still interested to note the change in the man’s voice. Where before, talking of Cardassia, the war, and the present rebuilding, his tone had been full of reverence and protectiveness, all of that was now magnified into what almost sounded like adoration.  
  
“Why don’t _you_ tell me about Chief Advisor Garak,” Bashir said. “Out for promotion, are you? I’m not sure he’ll be so very thrilled by your initiative.”  
  
With the back of his hand, the man struck him across the face. Bashir tasted blood in the corner of his mouth. Nothing serious though, he self-diagnosed, as the sting in his cheek slowly faded.  
  
“You know nothing about him,” the man spat. “ _Nothing_. Do not pretend to yourself that you know him. You are _human_. You are _Federation_. You could never know him as well as –”  
  
The door sprang open, and the man whirled around.  
  
Bashir thought he had never before appreciated fully what a dangerous man Garak was. Now, seeing the look on his face as he stood in the doorway, he suddenly knew what the man was capable of.  
  
“Chief Advisor,” Bashir’s interrogator said breathlessly. “I –”  
  
“One word, Luvan,” Garak said. “One more word, and I swear that I will kill you.”  
  
Luvan took two full steps back, looking terrified.  
  
“I will say this only once.” Garak’s voice was low with fury. “You will leave the capital and never return. If I ever see you anywhere near the city, getting arrested will be the least of your worries. Is that clear?”  
  
Luvan nodded, and when Garak stepped away from the door, fled through it.  
  
Garak turned to Bashir, and all the awe-inspiring terror seemed to be sucked from the room as he rushed towards him. “I am so sorry, my dear,” he said sincerely, undoing Bashir’s shackles, then filling up the glass on the table and handing it to him. “Are you all right?”  
  
Bashir, drinking three glasses of water before he trusted himself to speak, nodded. “I’ll be fine.”  
  
Garak, suddenly noticing the blood on his mouth, dropped to a crouch before him. “He hit you,” he said quietly, touching the corner of Bashir’s mouth. “I should have killed him after all.”


	15. Chapter 15

Julian Bashir awoke to sunlight shining through his eyelids and warming his face. He lay there for a while with his eyes closed, enjoying the sound of the chirping birds.  
  
Where was he again? Oh yes. He smiled. This was the second time in two days that he’d woken up not remembering where he was, and this time the answer was infinitely more pleasant. And the way his mind worked, waking up disorientated usually didn’t happen, so it was a welcome change.   
  
He opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was a vase with flowers on his bedside table. A note stood propped up against it. He sat up and unfolded it.  
  
 _Good morning. I thought it would be best to let you sleep. I have gone to the capital and will try to get off early today. Make yourself at home and order anything you like from the replicator. There’s a lovely river two miles south of the house if you want to take a walk._  
  
Bashir smiled. These beautiful surroundings, a note and the flowers (which he was fairly sure hadn’t been there last night) – what a very strange visit this was turning out to be.  
  
He spent a lovely day, walking, reading, eating, lying in the sun; such a stark contrast to his last two days it felt surreal. As he crossed a bridge on his way back to the house, he came upon a field of bright orange flowers that looked a little like Earth thistles.   
  
He probably should have expected something odd, he mused as he strolled through the field. It wasn’t as though he could just come to Cardassia and not meet with any trouble at all. He just hadn’t considered _that_ kind of trouble.  
  
“Ah, there you are,” Garak called as Bashir turned the last corner and the house came into view. It really was a splendid little thing.  
  
“Been down at the river,” Bashir smiled. “It’s absolutely beautiful here, Garak.”  
  
Garak looked as pleased as though the doctor had made him a personal compliment. “I’m glad you think so. Hungry?”  
  
It was well into the afternoon, but Bashir had only had a late breakfast, so they had lunch together. Just like old times. Except not at all.  
  
“And you have slept well? How are you feeling?” inquired Garak, and Bashir looked up to see his friend eyeing him very closely.  
  
“I’m fine, Garak,” he laughed. “The last two days haven’t been great, true, but no harm done. Stop worrying.”  
  
Garak narrowed his eyes. Bashir could still see some of last night’s fury in there. “All right. I will keep my concern to myself, if you so wish.”  
  
“Did you tell the President?”  
  
Garak nodded. “I had to explain the sudden absence of Luvan.” He spat out the name as though it was something vile. “Again, I am sorry. I had noticed him becoming rather… well, obsessed with me, but I never thought he was capable of this.”  
  
“Don’t worry about it. – Tell me about this place,” Bashir said, eager to change the subject. Garak’s house, and the fields surrounding it, were so different from the ruin and destruction he’d seen in the capital, he almost hadn’t believed it at first.  
  
“One of the many country homes thankfully spared from the Dominion attack,” Garak said, his mood brightening considerably. “The Dominion mainly targeted the cities. This house was home to five families directly after the war, when many people still had no place to live. They moved out one by one, the last family only last month. Some of them went to the cities, some of them are now rebuilding their old houses.”  
  
“And this house used to belong to you? Or – was it Tain’s?”  
  
“No – Tain’s was in the neighbouring region to the north of this one, closer to the capital. That whole stretch of land was destroyed in the final attacks.” Garak, who had said all this in an earnest sadness that Bashir had only recently come to know in him, suddenly smiled mischievously. “ _This_ house belonged to Dukat.”  
  
“Dukat?” Bashir asked, incredulously.  
  
Garak nodded. “As far as we know, his wife and one of his sons survived the war, but they’ve gone into hiding somewhere. I can’t blame them, at that. Anyway, before they left they told their neighbours they could do with this house what they wanted.”  
  
“A philanthropic gesture.”  
  
“Yes – more than this world ever saw from the man himself,” Garak said disdainfully.  
  
“So when the last family moved out…”  
  
“… I requested the house for myself,” Garak grinned. “Couldn’t have asked for a better revenge than this, don’t you think?”  
  
Bashir smiled.  
  
Later in the evening, as they went on another stroll together, something suddenly occurred to him.  
  
“Parker,” he said. “The doctor on the ship I came on. I was supposed to meet him for lunch yesterday.” He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten that. He must have been under more strain than he’d realized.  
  
“It’s all right – I contacted him last night after we arrived here,” Garak said. “Ezri, as well.”  
  
“Ezri?” Bashir stopped in his tracks, staring at Garak.  
  
The Cardassian looked uncomfortable. “She was the one who contacted me to tell me you were missing. Apparently, Doctor Parker was unaware of the fact that you had a friend on Cardassia, so he got in touch with her.”  
  
Bashir shook his head slowly. What a mess. “Well, that’ll teach me for wanting to make it a surprise visit.”  
  
They walked on for a while, many things hovering unspoken between them, neither of them seeming to make up their mind to address them.  
  
Finally, Garak said, “Ezri seemed surprised that I didn’t know you were here.”  
  
Bashir bit his lip. What a colossal idiot he’d been. Then again, who would expect getting abducted right after his arrival and having to rely on his ex-girlfriend getting in touch with his – whatever he was?  
  
“I’m sorry about that, Garak.” He frowned. “That must have been a bit of an awkward conversation.”  
  
“For her more than for me, I think.”  
  
They walked back to the house in relative silence. Every time Bashir had (almost) made up his mind to start talking, Garak seemed to find something else to say.  
  
Finally, as they sat in the kitchen, sharing a bottle of kanaar, Garak seemed to have run out of trivial subjects, and Bashir smiled at him.  
  
“I’d forgotten how proud you were.”  
  
Garak tilted his head, looking at him innocently. “Proud?”  
  
“You’d rather let me go back to DS9 with nothing of substance said between us than ask me why I’m here, or what the state of things is with Ezri.”  
  
Garak pursed his lips, lifting his glass and swirling his kanaar, before looking up again. “Well, my dear, the ball is in your court, as I believe the saying goes.”  
  
Bashir grinned. “So it is.” He paused. “Well, I broke up with Ezri a few weeks ago.”  
  
“That much I gathered, from the way she spoke about you.”  
  
“Yes, I thought you would have.” He frowned into his glass.   
  
“How did it go?” Garak asked, his voice gentle.  
  
Bashir swallowed. “Well, you know. Break-ups are always awful. But it’s even worse when it’s your fault. And when you haven’t been behaving exactly well.”  
  
“Please don’t tell me you did the honest thing and told her everything,” Garak frowned, looking like he might roll his eyes at the silly humans any minute now.  
  
Bashir smiled. “No. I, er, I didn’t mention Bajor.”  
  
Garak nodded. “And that’s probably for the best.”  
  
There was a moment’s silence during which Bashir fiddled with his glass.  
  
“So I started out thinking I’d give it some time, think about things, try to find out… well, how I felt.”  
  
He looked up. Garak was just looking at him, waiting for him to continue. He couldn’t quite make out the look on his face.  
  
“Except I couldn’t think clearly because I kept thinking about you,” Bashir pressed on before he lost his nerve. “So I thought I’d take some leave and come see you, and… well, that’s pretty much as far as I got.”  
  
Garak smiled. He still showed no sign of an emotional response, though. “With your enhanced intelligence, that’s all you managed?”  
  
Bashir shrugged. “It doesn’t really help with emotional things. I mean, even if I did approach it like a scientific problem – I can’t even measure all the factors.”  
  
“What are the factors?”  
  
“Well, one of them is your crazy ex-aide, apparently.”  
  
Garak laughed.  “Yes. That, nobody could really have foreseen.”   
  
“Another is…” Bashir swallowed. “Well, that you might think I’m not the faithful type, after how you’ve seen me behave with Ezri.”  
  
Garak tilted his head, but didn’t reply.  
  
“These past few months,” Bashir said, “well – this is the first time that sort of thing has happened to me.” He bit his lip. “I don’t want to make excuses, but I couldn’t really… well, I kind of couldn’t help myself, with you.”  
  
Garak hesitated, then got up and walked around the table. As he leaned against it, facing Bashir, only a few inches separating them now, the doctor could suddenly hear his blood pounding in his ears.   
  
“What you are saying, then,” said Garak slowly, “is that you don’t know how or whether this is going to work out, but you had an impulse to see me and find out how I felt?”  
  
Bashir swallowed. He was pretty sure Garak could see the effect their proximity had on him in his eyes.  
  
“Yes, that’s pretty much it.”  
  
Garak studied him for a while. “How long is your leave?”  
  
“Not sure yet. I’ve taken ten days but could probably extend it.”  
  
Garak nodded. “Good. Because I don’t think we can decide on this tonight, or even in a couple of days.”  
  
Something tiny in Bashir’s stomach erupted. So Garak was considering giving them a chance. Oh sweet God.  
  
He swallowed.  
  
“Then I guess we should start assessing all the factors,” he said.  
  
“Sounds like we have a plan,” Garak murmured, and before either of them knew it, they were entangled in each other, kissing and holding on to each other for dear life.  
  


**The End**


End file.
